Pressure is a heavy word. The middle whispers like a ball with a hole just the right size to let out an irritating hiss. The more weight added and the worse it gets.
So why do we apply this word to our own lives?
Maybe we’re striving for more? Maybe we feel the harder we press the fulfilment will be that much more?
When I was a child, I would make friends with the trees. I would watch as the clouds drifted across a colourful sky as it faded to black. The stars and the moon spoke to me. Sang songs of secrets that echoed from beyond. I long to hear the voices again. Hear the tales they would tell of things I did not know. The wind carried my tales back to them as the Earth added its legends to the spreading conversation. They’re the reason I write. The song of nature is the reason I fell in love with our world. From the moment my eyes opened I could hear the tune. Dance to the beat. Clap with the thunder. Spin with the tornado. The natural world welcomed me with an open heart as it does to every one of us. Our hearts only need to be open to its majesty. Our minds need to be willing to accept what it does not yet understand. And then the universe will fill you full of secrets that it has longed to share. These voices started my love and sparked the wonder of my inner self. I have strayed far. Far enough that my world seems to have lost the mystical glow. Drowned by grey and seemingly lifeless.
Could this be the side effect of the ever-heavy pressure of more? Or pressure that I am to find my one true purpose? Or is it because I closed my eyes and plugged my ears? How did I become so numb that even the wind’s gentle caress against my skin became nothing more than an annoyance?
How could did the heavy weight of life deflate me to a point of hopelessness?
When did I get a hole? Is there more than one?
Is life really that sharp?
The truth is. All I need to do is drop my hands from my ears, tilt my head up, and open my eyes. Feel the warmth of the sun as melts the world into a fantastical explosion of colour.